


what do we learn when we're lost?

by theshipshipper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, slightly inspired by the film called in your eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2020-07-08 15:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19872103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipshipper/pseuds/theshipshipper
Summary: Soulmate AU.--"I think I get it now, why we are the way we are. I don't know if I believe that the universe has any stake in this, in us, or even that the gods do, but for some reason I think our paths were always destined to cross.It would seem that way, wouldn't it? So maybe it is written in the stars, maybe the gods have been watching us all along. Maybe there's a grand scheme reserved just for us. "--Title from: Skin - LUME





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StandBehindHouseStark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StandBehindHouseStark/gifts).



> This one was hard to write haha but it's finally ready to be published so here we are. 
> 
> Thank you so much to [Katya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlibbertiGiblet/profile) for beta-ing this chapter as well as helping me figure out how to move this story along ever since I started haha. Dude, I'm extremely grateful!!!
> 
> PS  
> This fic draws inspiration from the film 'In Your Eyes'.
> 
> [EDIT] Fic poster [here!](https://theshipshipper.tumblr.com/post/621628553826549760/what-do-we-learn-when-were-lost-a-jonsa)

**ix.**

The pain comes sharp and instantaneous, hitting her with a force that throws her off balance. It comes blow after blow. One to her stomach, to her leg, to her back. 

One right through her chest.

"Sansa, what's wrong?"

She feels light-headed; unfocused. One moment she's dancing in the middle of the dance floor and then falling on it the next.

She feels Margaery's hand come around her, pulling her up from the ground. 

It's much too loud where she is, much to chaotic. "I need... air," she gasps out, clutching at her friend's arm like a lifeline.

"Okay. Let's get outta here," Marg agrees worriedly, tugging her away from the thick of the crowd and towards the exit.

Margaery leads her outside, almost carrying half her weight. The air is cool on her skin, her surroundings quieter. She tries to inhale but she finds it hard to breathe. Like she's running out of air somehow. She tries to breathe in and out, tries to calm her mind. It doesn't work; the pain is too sharp to keep her focus. She wants to collapse. Wants to shut her eyes and let it all end.

"No, no, no," she cries out, shaking her head, reaching for Marg again to keep herself balanced.

The thoughts are not her own, just as the pain isn't hers, either. 

She shut her eyes, trying to reach him somehow.

 _Jon, s_ he begs him to hear her, but she knows he wouldn't, so she makes him feel it instead. Just as she's feeling his pain, she makes him feel her strength. Lends it to him. _Fight it_.

A new wave of pain wash over her, stronger than the last. And she knows it's meant to be a response. _It's too much._

She let out a sob, falling on the ground once more as the pain intensifies. Marg is saying something to her, her face full of concern and fear, but Sansa can't hear what it is that she says, there's only the ringing in her ears and the grief settling deep within her chest.

She feels weak, her mind a blur. Like everything is falling away into the void; into nothingness.

_I can't lose you. Please, please, stay with me._

_I'm trying._

It's to no avail; the end is near. The realization makes her surrounding grow dark, for the first time seeing the world without him.

Regret floods her mind, overcome with dreams he will never achieve. A future he will never have. A family. Children of his own. A wife. He longs for the people he will never see and the goodbyes he will never get to say.

She takes a deep breath, hugging her knees to her chest. _I'm here, Jon. I'm right here._

_Don't go._

She shakes her head, even though she knows he won't see. _Never._

And then there was nothing.

The pain, the regret, even the frustration -- all of it disappears at once. Yet the relief doesn't follow, not when she knows what this means.

"No. Please, no," she cries out, clutching the material of her shirt as if it could make the hurt in her heart stop. 

"Sansa, it's okay," Marg reaches for her at once, kneeling next to her. "I called your brother. He's on his way to get us, okay? Everything will be alright."

She's wrong; nothing will ever be alright again. She feels it, the loss. Like a part of her has been ripped right out of her and it's just gone. 

An empty space where Jon should be.

"I'm sorry," she manages to whisper out, though she's not sure who she means it for.

Maybe for Marg, for ruining her night. Or maybe for Jon, for not being able to do anything when he needed her the most.

She's calm and quiet when Robb's car pull up on the side of the street, but she falls apart again once she sees his face. It's so full of worry that she couldn't bear it.

He rushes over to her, taking her from Marg's embrace. "Hey. What's wrong?"

"She wouldn't say," her friend answers for her. "She collapsed inside and then just started crying. I didn't know what to do."

Robb looks at her. "San, talk to me. What happened?"

"Jon's dead." She hates that she has to be the one to tell him. Jon was his best friend. More than that, even. They were brothers.

But what else could she say? What lie could explain away the empty feeling in her heart? 

His brows furrow in confusion. "San, what are you talking about. Jon's fine. He's coming home in a few days, remember?"

For the wedding.

She turns away, unable to meet her brother's eyes. He wouldn't understand even if she tried to tell him and it's not like she has the energy to do so.

"I can't explain how I know, I just do," she says tiredly, the tears falling in its own volition. "Please just take me home."

She wants to lie down and bury herself underneath a blanket to cry. She wants to be alone in her grief. She wants to find sleep and never wake up again.

**ii.**

Jon and Sansa were not friends in their youth. They were civil, at most, if not completely indifferent.

It was no big deal; they were different from each other. They have other interests, other friends. They didn't share anything in common, or so he first assumed. But then, when he was fifteen, just weeks after he was attacked by a crow while running around in the woods with Robb and Theon, he often found Sansa glaring at him as if he'd done her some great offence.

For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why she was angry. They did not speak often, and even when they would it's just an exchange of few polite words. He doesn't talk about her behind her back or anything, he doesn't even think about her all that much.

So what on earth could he have possibly done to merit such frustration from her?

"You should be more careful next time," she berates, once she finds a moment alone with him.

They're at the local diner, her siblings having left them alone to play the arcade game just at the far end of the place. Just like him, she has chosen not to partake. Instead, they wait outside for a bit of fresh air. 

It's the middle of summer, but she's dressed in long sleeves and jeans, her red hair covering half her face. She's no longer glaring at him, but she does still seem frustrated. 

She points at his forehead, where the crow's claw had left its mark. "That hurts." She takes his arm where he has scratches, too. "So do these."

He blinks at her, confused. It's not a question, but he answers it as such. "It does."

"I know. So you should be more careful."

It's not like he wanted the bird to attack him, he wants to say. Instead, he nods. "I will."

She's about to turn away when he spots it. That familiar line marring his skin, except it's on hers, too.

"Wait. What's that?" He takes her arm, tugging her back to face him.

She's surprised and confused, but he's too focused on what he's seen that he's already pushing her hair away from her face before he realizes what he's doing.

There is a dark mark on her forehead that is an exact replica of his own, down to every jagged detail. "Why do you have this?"

She sighs, as though it should be obvious. "Because you weren't careful."

"What?" He asks, aghast. She can't possibly be blaming him, he doesn't even know what's going on.

Slowly, she frowns. "Don't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

Her frown deepens from his response. She looks around, frustrated, before she walks over to a nearby tree and punched it. He's confused at first, but then he feels his own knuckles ache as an effect of the impact.

"What the hell?" He hisses out, just as Sansa starts waving her hand around to ease the pain. "What just happened?"

"I punched a tree," she tells him simply.

"I know that. I saw," he answers with gritted teeth. She's impossible. "I meant -- " he studies the back of his hand. It's starting to redden, and soon enough he thinks it would start to bruise. "I felt it, too."

He walks over to her, taking her hand to inspect it. They have the same redness on the back of their hands.

"This is weird," he tells her in a low voice.

She huffs. "Tell me about it. I keep getting hurt even when I'm not doing anything."

He looks at her, sheepish now. "It's because of me?"

He's not clumsy, but he does get injured a lot.

She nods. "I didn't understand at first. But then I noticed that we always seem to have the same bruises."

"I didn't know," he admits, but that couldn't be true. He did always think something strange was happening. "Or maybe I just didn't realize."

Whenever he gets angry or frustrated, whenever he's nervous about something or downright terrified, there has always been something inside him that somehow manages to calm him. It's a strange sensation, it feels almost like vibrations of a song. Like someone is reaching for him, singing to him, except he feels it more than he hears it.

He turns to look back at Sansa, realizing for the first time that it has been her all along,

x.

News come a week later. 

Samwell Tarly, dressed in his crisp military uniform, comes to her parents' house on a bright Wednesday morning, accompanied by a much older man. They look strained as they walk into the living room, but everyone already knows what they came to say.

She recognizes Sam from Jon's pictures as well as fond stories he would tell her of the man. She can see from the look on his face that he's grieving the loss of a friend as well but he offers her a sad smile when he catches her looking. She tries to return it, but she couldn't muster even that.

Robb turns to her with a frown, probably wondering how she got it right all along. He didn't believe her that night when she told him, not that she ever bothered to explain. But then Jon didn't arrive when he was supposed to, and when he never called to explain why, there was no other explanation for her brother to consider. 

"...missing in action," the older man finishes. "Most likely dead in enemy territory."

He proceeds to explain all he knows, which isn't a lot really. It was some sort of ambush, Jon's squad was sent out on a raid and they never came back. Another team was sent out to look for them, but only few of them returned to tell the tale.

Sansa blocks out the rest; she already knows what happened. She felt the pain as though she was the one getting pierced with the bullets. She has no desire to know more.

Jon has no living relatives left, but the Starks are his family in all the ways that count. He's left them letters; one for her parents, one for Robb, one for Arya, one for Bran and Rickon. And one for her.

"You knew. Before anyone else, you knew," Robb tells her once the soldiers have left and it's only her, her older brother, and sister left in the living room. 

The underlying question is clear, but she has no words to offer.

"Robb, don't," Arya warns, though she's glaring at Sansa. "You heard what that man said, Jon's MIA. That doesn't mean he's dead."

Arya didn't take it well when Robb told them what happened to Sansa that night; how she'd broken down crying and claimed Jon to be dead. Arya had screamed and raged at her the next day, asking her why she would say something so horrible. She'd said many other unpleasant things too, but Sansa could forgive her that.

"I know what he said, Arya. I also know you heard him say when the ambush happened. It was on that same night."

Arya scoffs. "Oh, shut up about that bullshit. Sansa's not psychic. There's no way she could have known."

"But she did."

Sansa takes a deep breath; she really wishes they would stop talking as though she isn't there. She keeps her eyes glued on the envelope in her hand, unsure whether she wants to open it or not.

She's afraid of what it might say; afraid that it won't be enough to nullify the ache in her chest.

Later, long after the sun has set and her family has retreated to their beds for sleep, Arya tiptoes into her room. She used to do this all the time when they were younger, when their relationship was still simple and uncomplicated by their opposing disposition.

Arya slips into her bed wordlessly, tucking herself underneath the blanket with a sniff. She's been crying, Sansa realizes. Not that it's all that surprising. She loved Jon. No matter how tough she's become over the years, grief is still grief. 

"How did you know?" Arya asks after a while, breaking the silence.

"I felt it," she admits in a quiet voice. She swears she can still feel that sharp pain sometimes, though she's sure it's only because she badly wants to. 

"You felt it," Arya repeats, almost uncomprehending.

This wouldn't be easy to explain; she and Jon kept it to themselves because it was weird enough for the pair of them, so how could they have told anyone else?

She sighs, meeting her sister's eyes in the darkness. "I did. That night, I felt it... I felt him getting shot." She inhales. "It's hard to explain."

"Try."

Sansa let out a breath. Where does she even start?

She was ten when it first happened; she was in her room reading a book when she suddenly felt her ankle twist. She thought she'd broken it somehow, and her cry of pain brought her mother to her room in panic. 

They had her ankle checked but the doctors couldn't find anything wrong with it. The X-rays showed no sign of broken bones and none of the other tests showed results. When she was asked to walk, she could even do so with no problem, so there really was nothing wrong with her ankle. Yet it hurt all the same.

She did hear from Robb that Jon suffered an injury during soccer practice around the same time, but she was maybe too young then to have connected the dots. 

As she grew up, scattered bruises appeared on her skin from time to time. A thin line on her thumb that felt like a paper cut, a throbbing pain that felt like a broken finger, a bruised knee. She couldn't figure out where they came from and overtime she stopped trying to, accepting the mysterious injuries as a way of life.

And then one day, Jon got attacked by a bird and sported a gash on his forehead. And she had a similar mark on hers, too.

"It's easier to just show you," she finally decides to say when Arya still doesn't seem to understand.

She stands up from her bed to turn on the lights. Arya curses, the bright light probably irritating her currently sensitive eyes.

"Sorry," she says as her sister sits up on the bed.

"Show me what?"

Sansa takes a deep breath before she sits down, her back to her sister. "Proof."

She reaches for the hem of her shirt and tugs it halfway off, just showing the part of her back where she knows the mark would be. The expression on her sister's face changes from confusion, to surprise, then to shock.

"Is that --"

She sucks in a deep breath. "A bullet wound, yeah."

It's not exactly wounds because it doesn't hurt the way actual wounds does. She and Jon has taken to calling them marks, because it was just that. Marks on each other's skin.

"How...?"

Sansa lifts her shoulder. "I don't know. They just always appeared on me whenever he got wounded and vice versa."

It usually disappeared once the actual wound healed, like it was never truly there, but it stayed with her like how she imagines invisible scars would stay.

She wonders if these wounds would disappear, too. She doubts Jon's injuries would heal since he's gone, so she supposes she'll just carry them for the rest of her life. And perhaps it wouldn't be too terrible. 

May it forever remind her that once upon a time, Jon Snow shared a part of her that no one else ever will.

Arya reaches out to touch her back. "Does it hurt you?"

"No," she assures, but she privately wishes it did. She would rather it hurt and know that Jon is alive than feel nothing at all.

"It looks so real, how does it not hurt?"

"Because it doesn't hurt him anymore," she answers, turning to Arya. "That's how I knew. That night, when it suddenly stopped hurting, I knew."

iv.

Jon wakes with a start; he sits up in shock, woken by the surprise of what feels like a slap on the face. He takes a quick glance around his room. He's alone and it couldn't possibly be just a dream, so it has to be something else.

Fear floods through his stomach, but it isn't his fear. It's still unclear what the hell it is that he and Sansa share, but they've gotten better at understanding it. 

He reached for his phone, dialing her number immediately. Her phone rings and rings until he's directed to voicemail. He tries again with the same result before finally texting her. 

_Sansa, answer your damn phone_ , He texts and finds it insufficient. _Where the hell are you?_

All of a sudden, he feels a tight hold on his wrist, like someone's trying to restrain him.

"Fuck," he mutters as he quickly rises from his bed.

He grabs his hoodie and keys before speeding out of his dorm room, dialing Arya's number as he quietly made his way out of his building.

Arya picks up on the third ring. There's a muted sound of video games playing in the background. She's probably at Gendry's. "Hey, what's up?"

"Do you know where Sansa is?" He asks without preamble, pulling his hoodie over himself before sliding into his car.

"Uh, dunno. At some party with the asswipe, I think."

Jon shut his eyes as a new wave of fear washes over him. Over her. "Can you find out where?"

"Sure?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Great. Text me the address, will you?"

He hangs up without a goodbye. His campus is a little outside of Winterfell, so it'd be at least fifteen minutes before he gets into town if he drives fast enough. He assumes that's plenty enough time for Arya to figure out where the hell her sister is. He's overcome with worry, afraid that something worse might happen to Sansa if he doesn't get to her in time.

Halfway through his drive, his phone rings. He's expecting it to be Arya, but it's Sansa's name on the caller ID. His hand flies to his phone on the shotgun seat, picking up the call immediately. 

"I'm okay," is the first thing she says, which he doesn't believe.

He would remind her that he knows better; he can very literally feel that she's shaken up about whatever the hell just happened.

"Where are you?"

"At a party. It's fine, I'm on my way home." She even sounds fine, Jon would grant. But while she's gotten great at masking her emotions from everyone else, none of that works on him. "I swear, Jon. I'm okay. You don't have to worry."

She's saying it for his benefit, which only frustrates him. "I don't know why you think I'd buy that," he tells her. "Where are you, Sansa?"

She sighs. "At the Cerwyn's."

That's pretty much on the outskirts of Winterfell. He lets out a deep breath; it's a few minutes away from where he currently is. "Stay put. I'm on my way there."

"Jon, you don't - "

"Your boyfriend better still be there because I'm kicking his ass," he says firmly, leaving no room for questions.

She doesn't have to tell him for him to know who it was that was hurting her just a few minutes ago. He's felt it for a while, that unsettling fear in her. He tried to ignore it only because it didn't feel like his business. Maybe they were going through something. Maybe it'll resolve itself. Maybe she'll finally decide to just break up with the jerk.

Sansa's been dating him for a while now. A few months, maybe. None of her siblings like the guy, and they've made it clear on multiple occasions that they don't approve, which Jon suspects is the main reason why Sansa insisted on dating him in the first place.

She's a Stark, so of course she's stubborn as hell. Even when it's bad for her.

He kept the commentary to himself because he didn't want to nose into somemone else's business, even if he and Sansa did share this inexplicable connection between them. They may have become friends in the last few years, but romantic relationships is still a weird plane to navigate.

It was weird when he was with Ygritte, and it's weird with Joffrey. Still, if that prick got it in his head that he could just hurt Sansa and get away with it, then he's got another thing coming.

Jon spots her outside the Cerywns' mansion from a distance, probably waiting for him so he doesn't have to go inside and find trouble instead. He flies out of his car, underdressed in his old sweatpants and Winterfell hoodie. 

He walks over to her, inspecting her person. "You okay?"

It's been a year since he last made an appearance at one of the Cerywns' wild parties, way before he graduated from high school, but he's never been without Robb. People start to notice his arrival, their heads turning to whatever they think is going on between him and Sansa, maybe some form of entertainment in their drunk minds, but he can't find any shits to give at the moment.

She nods in response. "I am. Let's just leave, please?"

He doesn't move, his gaze firm on her. "What happened?"

"Nothing." She shakes her head. "It's over now. I took care of it."

He doesn't know what she means by that and it's not enough for him. He's still vibrating with anger; he needs someone to punch, someone who's preferably Joffrey.

"Where is he?" He quirks his head towards the house. "Is he still inside?"

"Jon," she breathes out, raising her hand up to his cheek so she could turn his face where he sees only her. It's meant to calm him down, and as hard as he tries to keep being angry, he can't. "Look at me. I'm okay. Joff won't ever bother me again, I swear it. We're done."

He sighs out and pushes himself away from her. His anger has deflated with her touch, just like that. 

He runs a tired hand through his hair. "Fine. Let me take you home, at least."

She requests to stop by the diner near her subdivision to eat, but he knows it's just so she can make sure he doesn't drive right back to the Cerwyns' after he drops her off.

She grabs his hand from across the table as they wait for their food, inspecting his wrist. The bruises have started to form, which makes the anger rise up in him again, but the way she's looking at it so curiously distracts him from any plans of retaliation on Joffrey.

"I'm sorry," she tells him, tracing the edges of the bruise almost unconsciously.

"What are you sorry for?" It's not like it hurts him. It's her bruise.

"I don't know," she admits with a sigh. "But I knew you were going to feel it, so I fought back."

A question is on the tip of his tongue; he wants to know what happened, but she seems determined to avoid it. He doesn't mind letting her, as long as she really is okay.

"I've never marked you like this before," she says, raising his wrist to her lips as if to kiss it better.

His mouth quirks up into a smile. "I seem to recall you punching a tree to do just that."

"That was different. I was trying to make a point."

He understands what she means; he's always been the one doing the marking. Gods, just thinking of the amount of fights he and Robb got into at sixteen still makes him feel guilty sometimes. He must have been unbearable to her.

Doesn't make him any less marked, though. As she seems to imply. In fact, he thinks her mark on him goes deeper than just the bruise on his skin.

It lies deeper within, engraved into his soul.

**xi.**

Robb and Margaery's wedding is a somber affair.

It's only been days since they received the news on Jon and it's brought a certain kind of sadness to what would have otherwise been an exclusively happy affair.

The couple considered cancelling the wedding due to recent events, but Sansa had been the one to fiercely oppose the idea. They've already put in so much time and effort, not to mention money, for them to just cancel it. Jon wouldn't have wanted them to stop living their lives just because he's gone.

Arya backs her up on this, and so the wedding proceeded as planned, and they all try to forget their loss for a while.

"Can I ask you something?" Arya asks as they sit side by side during reception. "About Jon?"

Sansa tilts her head sideways. "Sure."

"Did you love him? I mean... I never got the full story of how you two got close, but..." she trails off, trying to find the right words. "Were you in love with him?"

She's aware that they all suspected something was going on, but she and Jon were never romantically involved. Maybe it was bad timing or just the stars never seeming to align, but she figured it would happen at some point, when they were both ready.

It always felt like they had plenty of time.

"I don't remember not loving him," she admits quietly, though it's not exactly an answer to the question. "It's hard to explain, but... when I figured out this thing we shared, it just all clicked into place, you know? He made everything make sense, like a missing puzzle piece."

Now she's missing half the board.

Sansa begs off just shortly after the program ends and after making sure all her sibling duties has been completed. She retires to her room, the music still blaring from their backyard, and she heads over to her desk where she's left Jon's letter untouched.

She opens it slowly, savoring every moment of the last words Jon Snow would ever speak to her.

_Hey, San._

_If you're reading this, then. Well, you'd know better than anyone, wouldn't you? You'd know more than I wish you did, and for that I'm sorry._

_Of all the letters I've written today, just hours before I'm set to leave the base for another mission, I find this the hardest one to write._

_How do you say goodbye to a person who shares your soul?_

_I keep trying to imagine myself in your shoes, wondering how I'd feel if I'd lost you. It's hard to consider. I might lose my damn mind even just thinking of it. I hope it's not the same for you because I couldn't bear the thought of you hurting because of me._

_Was it unfair of me to do this? To leave when I knew I wasn't just risking my life, but yours, too? It was, wasn't it? It's another thing I have to be sorry for._

_I know, I know. We've talked about this and you understand. You understand better than anyone. Doesn't mean I don't feel bad._

_There's still so many things I want to tell you, but I won't say them now. Not this way. If I'm gone, then maybe it's better that you don't know._

_It's just as well. I don't have the right words, I never do._

_But I think I get it now, why we are the way we are. I don't think I believe that the universe has any stake in this, in us, or even that the gods do, but for some reason I think our paths were always destined to cross._

_It would seem that way, wouldn't it? So maybe it is written in the stars, maybe the gods have been watching us all along. Maybe there's a grand scheme reserved just for us. So maybe you won't even have to read this at all. I don't know. But I think I'd like to hold onto that._

_I'd like to believe that you and I were always inevitable. It makes saying goodbye a little less sad, a little less final._

_After all, what's better than to have the Gods themselves on our side?_

_Always with love,_

_Jon._

Sansa rereads the last few paragraphs again and again, her chest constricting at what may be the best possible way to explain what she and Jon shared.

She laughs through her tears, trying to imagine him as he wrote this letter. It's a side to Jon Snow she's never seen, a side she'll never be able to. The romantic; the boy who believed in destiny and the Gods rooting for their happy ending. 

What she would give to get that kind of ending; to no longer feel the grief, the loss.

**vi,**

Jon has never known what true loss feels like until he loses his mother. 

She dies on a bright Sunday afternoon, on a day that seemed uneventful up until her heart monitor flatlined and the doctors were pushing him out of the room so they could revive her.

Her passing doesn’t come as a surprise. In fact, the near imminence of her death is what has made the last couple of months unbearable. He wakes every morning with the grief of having to watch his mother suffer with her illness and he goes to bed every night with the fear of her dying while he sleeps.

If he's honest, he's glad that it's over now. It hasn't exactly been easy months for either him or his mother. Having more time with her when she's suffering just seemed like a cruel punishment.

"Am I a bad son for being relieved?" He asks after the funeral, guilt dripping into every word.

Sansa's already shaking her head before he could finish. "No, you're not." She pulls him into her embrace and he freely succumbs into her warmth. "She'd understand." 

He's been so exhausted in the last few months that even sleep didn't feel like an escape; His only respite has been Sansa. All it ever takes are her hands on him and a few quiet assurances whispered into his ear. Even when she's far away she still manages to tame the darkness looming in his chest, flooding his senses with some semblance of hope.

He can't imagine his life without her; he'd have gone insane. The guilt floods his stomach at the thought. He says this, yet he's still planning to leave.

She twists to press her lips against his forehead. "It's alright. You don't have to feel bad about it."

He supposes she already knows his decision before he's even said it. Sometimes they can read each other's emotions so well that it borders on telepathy.

It didn't use to be like that. It used to come and go, a fleeting sensation whenever the other is feeling an intense emotion. As they grew closer, so did their connection.

They go over his plans, though it's probably not as elaborate as she expected. Thus far, he's only decided on selling the house as well as all the stuff he doesn't need and then putting the rest into storage.

He's thinking of going to military school instead, he admits this to Sansa. He still hasn't decided but it feels like the right fit. He has an uncle up North, a military man. They've gotten in contact the last few days and he offered to take Jon in for a while and then they'll see where to go from there. 

He considered just finishing his degree. He's already in his second year so he's invested enough time and money that it seems a waste to stop, but he hasn't declared a major yet and has no desire to, so it's useless either way.

He blows out a breath when he's done telling her everything. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" She asks, genuinely curious.

He shrugs. "I don't know -- for wanting to leave?"

But it's not like he would be the first. Robb is in his second year at a university in the Riverlands. Sansa's on her first in the Vale. Even Arya's leaving soon, going on an expedition in Braavos which she somehow managed to get her parents to agree to.

Really, he has more reasons to leave than to stay.

Sansa seems to be thinking the same thing, because she says, "We all just have different paths to follow." She meets his eyes, her lips quirking up into a teasing smile. "But you're not getting rid of me that easy. I'm a part of you, whether you like it or not."

He couldn’t help but smile at that; it’s the truth and he's glad that no amount of time can ever change that.

**xiii.**

Time is a funny thing. 

Sometimes it can pass so quickly that you don't even realize, other times it goes so slowly that a single second can last longer than a day. 

The latter has become her life; every second since Jon's death has come so agonizingly slow that it feels as though she'd already lived a thousand lifetime at the end of each day.

Three weeks go by and the pain doesn't leave. It stays with her as if it means to take over the spot Jon has vacated, a new constant in her life that she could've gone without.

She stops in front of her mirror, catching the mark on her skin through her tank top. She frowns, walking closer to inspect it. She reaches a hand out to touch the mark, looking at it for the first time since it appeared on her skin.

There's bruising around it, the skin a mix of purple and green. That shouldn't be happening, she thinks. It shouldn't be healing. Though it's not like there's any real way to know what should or should not be happening to the bruises. 

Still, she assumed it wouldn't heal. Not unless --

She sucks in a deep breath as the thought occurs to her. Could it be..? But, no. Jon's dead. There's no way he's not because she would feel it, otherwise. 

And she only feels nothing.

vi.

Jon can't seem to sit still, glancing out the small window every few seconds as if that could somehow make his flight go faster. 

He blows out a breath, trying to take in the beautiful sight of the night sky and the faint glimmer of city lights down below. 

He's not usually so impatient, but he hasn't seen Sansa in over a year, not since after finishing his army training, and the fact that he's only a few hours away from seeing her again makes it damn near impossible for him to find his chill.

He'd taken a direct flight from Queenscrown to the Eyrie, which is a ten hour flight, so it's pretty much going to be the longest day of his life. Thankfully, he'd fallen asleep during the first half of the journey, but that means he now has plenty of energy to do nothing but stare at the flight tracker on the monitor in front of him.

Sansa suggested he bring a book so he did, but no matter how hard he tries to read it, he just can't get past the first page. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and tries the wifi again, but it's still too slow to connect to anything. 

He sighs, pressing the home button to lead him back to the home screen where Sansa's picture is set as his wallpaper. The sight of it, at least, makes him feel better.

"She's beautiful," the man next to him compliments, making Jon turn. "Your girl?"

Almost instantly, a grin splits his face into two. "She's, uh - she's my soulmate."

He usually says it as a joke, because no one he's said it to actually believe him. Which makes it funny because he's not being dramatic or cheesy as they immediately assume. 

His squad actually likes to tease him about her a lot, even though he's said multiple times that he and Sansa are not together romantically. They particularly enjoy making whip sounds whenever they catch him staring at the printed copy of her picture he keeps in his chest pocket. But whatever, he doesn't give a shit about what they think. He just wants to remember how she looks, is all, even though it's impossible to forget.

The man raises an eyebrow, amused. "Is she? How long have you two been together?"

"Oh. We're not - " he laughs, smiling sheepishly at the man. "We're friends."

His brows furrow in confusion and Jon tries not to snort. It's a familiar reaction, not that he blames anyone for being confused. 

The man introduces himself as Davos Seaworth, and they keep a casual conversation throughout the rest of the flight. It's a relief to have someone to talk to, honestly, because it makes time pass without him noticing.

He perks up once the flight attendant announces their arrival over the speakers and he starts gathering his things.

On the way out, Davos pats him on the back. "Your soulmate. I hope it works out."

Jon smiles. "Thank you."

Sansa texts him that she's already at the waiting area, so he speeds through the baggage claim to get to her.

He spots her from a distance, her fiery red hair is pretty hard to miss. She's chewing on her bottom lip as she looks around, trying to find him among the sea of people.

The way her entire face lights up when she finally sees him makes his heart flip and he's hugging her before he even realizes that he already moved from his spot. He lifts her off the ground and she laughs. He swears that the sound of it is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard in his life.

He sets her back down, grinning at her goofily. "Hi."

"Hi," she breathes out, pulling him into her embrace again. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," he says against her skin, breathing out in relief.

They pull away, then they just stand there staring at each other. She looks different, yet somehow still the same as he remembers. But that's not why he's staring. It's just --

It's been so long since he'd last seen her that he can't make himself look away. She must also feel the same because it takes some dude muttering "Gods. Get a room already," in annoyance, for them both to remember where they are.

She laughs at that, embarrassed, and she hides her face against his chest.

They grab takeouts before heading to her apartment and then they eat on the couch while some film plays on the TV. 

They emailed often while he was away, and he called her whenever he got a chance, but there's still so much they've missed in the last year that the conversation carries them all through the night. He doesn't even notice the time passing. All he knows is she's there in front of him, this bright glimmer in her blue eyes and soft smile glued to her lips, and it's a moment he could live in forever. 

"You should rest," she says when she catches him stifle a yawn.

"I'm fine," he tells her softly, dropping his forehead on her shoulder. "I don't want to sleep yet."

He wants to spend as much time with her as he possibly can, sleep be damned. He's got twenty days with her before he has to report back to base, and sure that sounds like a lot of time, but it just doesn't feel enough.

She leans sideways and presses a kiss on top of his head. "We have plenty of time."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the long wait. I hope this makes up for it hehe. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

viii.

They come out of nowhere, these men with their painted faces and black armor, equipped with techs that are way too sophisticated this far North. 

Jon immediately dives for cover as soon as he hears the first shot, pulling Edd down with him. Their surrounding starts to fog, making it much harder to see. The air feels different too, as if they're suddenly right in the eye of a snowstorm.

This was meant to be a peaceful event between the Night's Watch and the Freefolk, their two factions having finally agreed on peace terms under General Commander Mormont. Jon was chosen to represent the brotherhood because he's the one the Freefolk trust.

"Tormund, who the hell are those?" He screams from a distance, sneaking a glance at where the representative of the Freefolk has taken cover.

"Mountainmen. We call them White Walkers," he screams back. "Ever wonder why we agreed to your stupid terms?"

Jon scoffs at that response, lifting his gun to aim at the incoming onslaught.

"A head's up would've been nice," he retorts, cursing under his breath as he fired his gun. To no avail it seems, their armor is impenetrable.

This is not going to end well for Jon and his men; they don't have enough firepower for the amount of White Walkers they're so suddenly facing. This was supposed to be an evacuation; they brought plenty of vehicles to bring the Freefolk across the Wall for resettlement in the New Gift. But not enough Watchmen and not enough weapons.

He tries to come up with a quick plan of action, but it's useless. The enemy is upon them much too quickly and he's been shot before he could even tell where the hit came from.

First, he's shot on the side of his stomach. Then to his leg. To his back. To his chest.

Their weapons are so powerful that the bullets penetrate right through his gear. He falls to the ground with a loud thud, the impact softened slightly by the thick bed of snow.

Jon tries to catch his breath but no air reaches his lungs. Time seems to have slowed down, and the chaos around him is muffled by the loud ringing in his ears. 

From a distance, he hears Tormund screaming at his men, commanding them to lead the enemy away. Somewhere. Jon can't make sense of the words, it all feels like a blur. The pain is too much, spread all over his body that he can't decide if he's feeling too much or nothing at all.

A sudden wave of energy surges deep within him and it could only be coming from Sansa, offering him strength when his own body could not.

The message is clear: _Fight it._

He shut his eyes, trying to hold onto her for as long as he can. He's too weak to keep fighting. He coughs and red liquid shoots out of his mouth, staining the white bed of snow. He's got a few minutes, probably, judging from where he's been shot and the amount of blood he's losing. Or maybe even less time than that.

 _Please stay with me_ , Sansa's plea is loud within him and he can feel the hurt within her. It's enough for him to try and hold on for a little longer.

He forces himself to crawl towards the nearest vehicle, using what little strength he has to get there. It's a painful and gruesome task, but he does it as if to assure Sansa that he'll do as she asked; that he won't just give up.

He takes hold of the tire, pulling himself up so he can sit. He looks around. Tormund's diversion must've worked because the sounds of battle is far from the clearing, with a trail of destruction following it.

He leaned his back against the tire of the truck, his mind wandering off to his mother, of her smiling face just moments before she passed. He hopes he'd made her proud, that he'd honored the life she'd given him by trying to protect people who could not protect themselves. He remembers Ned Stark, a man who loved Jon like a son, and his true sons that loved him as a brother. He thinks of Arya, his little sister in all the ways that count, and how she would jump into his arms like a monkey when she was still little. He thinks of all the adventures she's told him about and the ones he will never get to hear.

He lets his happy memories of them wash over him; the sound of their laughter, the smiles on their faces. Then, to each one of them, he says his private farewell. Finally, he lets them all go.

He coughs again, finding it much harder to breathe than a moment ago. He swipes the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand before unbuckling his vest. It takes effort but he manages to reach inside his chest pocket, carefully taking out a bloodied picture of him and Sansa that he always kept with him.

He sobs at the sight of her; her smile is bright like sunshine, her arms wrapped tightly around him as he laughs at something Robb had said from behind the camera. It feels like a whole other life, one where the chaos and death that surrounds him now can't reach her.

He brings the picture to his lips, tears falling as he pressed a kiss to it. "I love you," he says now even as he curses at himself for not saying it to her face when he had the chance. And he had plenty of them.

He doesn't even remember what he was waiting for. For the perfect opportunity? For the right time? For the stars above them to align? It seems like a waste now, spending all that time not telling her that he loves her. But then she already knows, doesn't she? She always knows better than he's ever willing to admit. 

He was going to confess when he got home. A few days seemed so close, so within his grasp. He had a whole plan; he was heading back a day earlier than he'd told Sansa and he was going to surprise her. Arya was somehow going to trick her into going to the Hot Springs near their house and that's where he will be waiting, with a picnic set up for them.

It was going to be perfect. But it's too late now. He has to let her go, too.

Possibly sensing his thoughts,she sends over a fresh wave of calmness, making her presence known as if to say, 'I'm staying right here, Jon'.

He's glad for it but he knows it's selfish of him to want her to stay. He should want to shield her from this, to hide the gravity of his pain from her so she won't know just how much he's suffering. But to block her out would mean to be in his lonesome instead of spending his last remaining moments with her.

So he chooses the latter.

  
  


ii.

Jon and Sansa's relationship doesn't shift drastically after he finds out about the connection they share, but there are little changes. 

Small smiles passing between them when they see each other, an exchange of shy hellos when the opportunity allows, short conversations they manage to steal before one sibling or the other whisks him away, and then --

"Robb and I are going to the park to play soccer," Jon tells her one afternoon, sitting next to her on the front porch as she reads a book. "We're taking Arya and the boys."

"Okay..." She's not sure what he wants her to say to that. "Have fun?"

He smiles. "Would you like to join us?"

She studies his face for a moment, wondering if he's only messing with her. They usually invite her along only at her mother's insistence, or on the occasion that Robb feels particularly brotherly, and Jon's never actually invited her himself. She assumes the gesture is meant to be an apology. She knows he feels bad about the whole forehead injury thing, he'd always give her a sheepish smile whenever he notices that half her face was covered with her hair as they pass each other on school hallways.

She glances up his forehead, noting that the wound has healed into a scar. It means that she can tie her hair back into a braid again instead of letting it fall loosely on her face to cover the ghastly mark.

"I don't play soccer," she reminds him, letting him off the hook. He doesn't have to keep feeling bad for getting attacked by a random bird, he just has to be more careful from now on. "Just don't get hurt."

Still, he doesn't accept her answer. "You don't have to play. You can just watch me." 

"And why would I do that?" She asks skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

He lifts a shoulder, a smile teasing his lips. "So you can make sure that I don't get hurt."

"Right."

He laughs at the flat tone. "Or you can just bring your book and read." He leans towards her, squinting at the page she's on. "What's it about?"

"Florian and Jonquil," she sighs out dreamily. She'd been so engrossed with the chapter she's on before he approached.

He asks her what she's read so far and she explains until Robb finally comes out of the house with Arya and the boys trailing behind him. 

She ends up going and doing exactly as Jon suggested. She sits on one of the benches under a shade, close to where her siblings are playing. Her book is propped up on her lap, stuck on the page she was on before, looking up every so often to check what's going on with the game.

Robb and the boys are on one team, Jon and Arya are on the other. From what she could tell, the latter is winning. Arya is shouting gleeful taunts as she high fives Jon. Robb, for his part, tries his best at giving instructions to their little brothers. Bran seems just as eager to win but Rickon, the youngest of them at seven, doesn't seem to care at all about the game. He's basically just doing his own thing while the rest of them played.

They stop by their favorite diner afterwards, with Jon and Arya as the winners. They claim their usual booth at the far end of the diner and no one bats an eye when Jon takes the spot next to her instead of going to his usual seat in between Arya and Robb. 

"Was your book any good?" He asks her as the six of them walked home later after their meal. 

They're a few blocks from their subdivision, her siblings running around ahead of them.

"Mhm. It was," she lies, turning to him innocently.

It's not completely a lie, she reasons with herself. What she's read of it has been great so far, she just didn't manage to read much more at the park. He was too distracting; each flash of excitement, of frustration, of joy, that passes through him reaches her. And she keeps looking at him to see what's happening that she keeps losing focus. 

He turns to her with a knowing smile. Of course he'd know she's lying. At some point, she got frustrated because she couldn't decide what to focus on that he stopped right in the middle of the game to turn to her in curiosity. 

"Will you lend it to me after you finish?" He asks before he starts walking backwards to the street towards his house.

"You want to read it?" She asks in surprise. It's not exactly something boys would like, Robb even laughed at the summary on the back when he read it. 

"Yeah. It sounds interesting, I want to take some points from Ser Florian the Fool," he tells her with a grin before raising a hand to wave goodbye. "I'll see you guys Monday. Don't forget the book, Sansa." 

Then he turns around to start running towards his street and she keeps watching as his silhouette disappears into the distance.

  
  
  


xii.

From a distance, he sees a castle made of snow. There's a pack of wolves surrounding it, their teeth bared and ready to attack any unwanted visitors. 

Each night, the wolves would howl a sorrowful tune, calling for something. The sound of it tugs at something deep within him and he has this inexplicable desire to chase after it. 

He tries, running and running on a seemingly endless slope.

Eventually, as though giving up, all but one of the wolves stop howling. They all go their separate ways; the she-wolf goes the farthest, running around in a strange field beyond the sea. She's not alone though, she runs with a Stag by her side, the pair of them chasing each other's tail. The Young Wolf is not much farther from her, running in a field of roses. The pups, the wildest and smartest of the litter, remains in the castle.

The Red Wolf, the smallest among them with her light grey fur and sad yellow eyes, is the only one who keeps howling each night. She's the most familiar to him among the pack, her voice reverberating deep within his soul. It feels as though she's calling for him directly; begging him to hear her.

_Come to me._

And so he runs even faster, passing slope after slope after slope of endless road. He doesn't stop, his gut telling him that he will reach her, that he will find her.

  
  
  


iii.

Though she isn't actually looking, Sansa finds Jon inside the Cerwyn's house around midnight, leaning over the wall near the kitchen.

She's been by the pool for most of the night, hanging out with Margaery and some of their other friends, until Marg is inevitably whisked away by her brother.

She stops walking when she realizes who Jon is with. Standing in front of him is Ygritte, his girlfriend of almost a year. They seem to be having a serious conversation, their voices low and expressions hard. 

She makes a face, deciding to turn back to where she came. All that is just... awkward. Thanks to this weird connection with Jon, she knows more of the intimate details of his relationship than she would have cared to find out.

Before she can make her way to the exit, though, she finds her way blocked by Joffrey Baratheon. He's a transfer in her year, his family having moved North at the beginning of school. Sansa's never spoken to him before, though she has heard rumors about him.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing all by yourself?"

She pretends not to be startled by his sudden approach, keeping her expression clear of any emotion. She's about to make up some excuse to get him to leave her alone, but this sudden flash of irritation hits her sharply.

She turns to give Jon a quick glance. Ygritte is still talking to him, but his attention has shifted to her. He's frowning at Joffrey as though he wants to step in and cut off their conversation before it can start.

She finds the reaction frustrating, she turns back to the guy, just to show Jon that he doesn't get to butt in on someone else's business. 

"I'm not by myself anymore," she tells Joffrey with a feigned smile, taking his bottle of beer to drink from it.

He gives her a self-satisfied smirk and this irritates Jon even more. She ignores this and tries to listen to Joffrey as he brags on and on about his lifestyle.

She finds that he is pretty full of himself. She keeps a placid smile on her face as he talks, nodding at all the right parts as though she cares or that she even knows what the hell he's saying. 

All throughout, she could feel Jon's eyes on them. She could also feel his frustration within her. When her patience has run thin and he still doesn't stop watching, she turns to him with a glare, trying to send a clear message for him to nose out of it. He offers her a scowl in return.

She knows what has him annoyed. Joffrey's not exactly Prince Charming based on what they've all heard of him. He's in a few of her classes and she doesn't know him well but she does know that he has a reputation for being a bit of an asshole.

She ignores her better judgement for now, just to annoy Jon all the more. He's still watching and it makes her feel defensive. He thinks he has to protect her or something, acting just like Robb would, and she doesn't need it.

Much later - far longer than she wanted their conversation to go - Jon finally does step in, cutting Joffrey off just as he's telling her about his fancy life in King's Landing before his family made the move

Jon physically places himself in between her and Joffrey, pretending as if he doesn't notice someone else there aside from her. "Hey, San, I'm heading out. You want a ride?"

It would have been funny to see him act like such a boy if it isn't so annoying. She doesn't need him to protect her like he thinks.

"Robb said he'd take me."

He raises his wrist to show her his watch. "It's late. Don't you have a test tomorrow? You spent all weekend studying for it. Besides, Marg and Robb are still at one of the rooms upstairs. You sure you want to witness the aftermath?"

She makes a face. She really doesn't. But still...

"I can take her," Joffrey pipes in, and Sansa only remembers his presence then. He's glaring at Jon. "We were in the middle of something, Snow."

No, they were not.

Jon glances at him, unimpressed. "Didn't seem like anything." He quirks an eyebrow at Sansa, waiting for her to move along.

She doesn't.

"Aren't you taking Ygritte home?" His girlfriend isn't exactly a huge fan of her, she wouldn't want to impose after what she just witnessed. They seemed like they were on a fight, her presence probably wouldn't be appreciated.

He shakes his head. "She already left. She brought her car with her. You ready to go?" 

She sighs and nods. "Yeah. Right behind you." She waits until he starts walking before she glances back at Joffrey awkwardly. "It was nice talking to you. I'll see you around, I guess?"

She moves to follow Jon then and she hears Joffrey shout after her. "I'll see you in school, Princess."

Jon turns to look behind her, scoffing at Joffrey. "Does he think that's cute? What a tool," he mutters under his breath.

She rolls her eyes, moving past him out the door. "You don't even know him."

"So what?" He asks incredulously. "Don't pretend like you actually liked him, I know you didn't."

"What - so, I can't like guys?"

"No. Of course you can. I'm just saying you don't like this guy in particular," he tells her as he unlocks his door.

She scowls at that. "Stop acting like you know how I feel."

"Well, I actually do know how you feel," he reminds her as he opens the door for her. "You thought he was a tool, too."

She gets in and waits until he's all the way to the other side of the car before responding. "You're wrong. I actually think I like him."

He shuts his door behind him and frowns at her incredulously. "You can't be serious."

She really can't be; she doesn't even know what the hell she's saying all this for. She crosses her arms, deciding not to correct herself even as he stares at her in disbelief. He can just keep thinking that what she said is true. Serves him right for acting like he knows everything about her feelings.

After a full minute of him just waiting for a response, she finally snaps. "Are you going to start the damn car or should I just go back in and ask Joffrey to drive me home instead?"

His hand flies to the ignition immediately at that, scowling. "You're insufferable."

She doesn't respond, keeping silent as he backed out of the driveway. They're both equally annoyed with each other, but she feels the irritation drift away the longer they drive.

He's the first to break the silence. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? It's just -" he runs a hand through his hair. "You do know what people say about that guy, right? You can't blame me for being worried."

"We were just talking," she reminds him. "It didn't mean anything."

He glances at her, his brows furrowed. He doesn't seem to know what else to say, so he doesn't say anything.

She lets the silence fill the car for a moment, then she speaks. "You and Ygritte seemed to be having a serious conversation earlier."

He shakes his head. "It was... We were just clearing the air. For closure."

"Closure? For what?" She frowns at him, trying to understand exactly what that means.

"Yeah. We, uh - we broke up."

"You mean earlier? Why? What happened?" When he doesn't reply, she pushes on. "Maybe you can still fix it. You guys were probably just angry, give it a day."

He shakes his head in contradiction. "It happened a week ago. It's really over, San."

This is news to her, which is a surprise in itself. She's too in tune with his emotions to have missed it, though it wouldn't be the first time he tried to block her out.

He tries to do the same thing whenever he's being... intimate... with his girlfriend. But it's useless because you can't actually block the other out, you can just sort of veil it with a different kind of emotion. Unfortunately, he's done the same thing enough times that she could recognize what it means.

She tries to read his emotions now, but nothing indicates that he's sad or heartbroken, so there's really just one question in her mind.

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

He makes a face. "I don't know... I didn't think you'd care."

She'll be the first to admit that she and Jon try to avoid conversations involving his girlfriend. It's just so weird for them both, even if they don't say it out loud. But still.

"Jon, it's your life. Of course I care about it." She paused. "What happened?"

"Seriously, it's not a big deal." He shrugs. "We're going different places for college so we decided to end it and save ourselves from any future heartbreak."

She frowns. "Just like that?" 

She didn't think he'd be so casual about it, like breaking up with someone you've been with for almost a year is just easy.

"Well... yeah." He seems to know that the explanation is not enough for her. "I mean, come on, San. She's going to Skaagos, I'm staying here. That's four years. And what about after that? She's not planning to go back here, I'm not planning to leave, so we both knew there was no future there between us." When he sees that it's still not enough for her, he sighs. "I don't know what else you want me to say."

"I don't want you to say anything, I'm just - " she shakes her head in disbelief. "You make it sound so trivial. I didn't think you could be so cold. Like it doesn't matter to you at all. Well, what about us, huh? Robb is leaving after the summer, so is Theon. What happens then? There's no way Arya's staying after she graduates, either. And me -- I'm not applying to universities in the North, I don't even know if I'm coming back here after. Do you just forget about me?"

He pulls up in front of her house and turns to her. "It's not the same thing and you know it."

"How is it not?"

He opens his mouth and shuts it again, as though stopping himself from revealing too much. She can feel his conflicting emotions, the anxiety, the frustration, the --

"You'll get it when you find someone," he tells her.

She scoffs. "Wow, great. Thanks for helping me understand."

She's about to push herself out of his car when he stops her. "San, wait. Just - " he pulls her back in and she glares at him in annoyance. "Ygritte broke up with me, okay? I didn't say so because you were going to be all sad for me and I didn't want you to. She had a good reason to break up with me and I agree with it."

"What reason?" She asks, almost offended on his behalf.

Jon is possibly the only decent person she knows outside of her family, Ygritte got lucky with him. She can't understand what he could have done so terribly that she wanted to break up.

Jon runs a hand through his hair. "She didn't think I cared enough about our relationship and she didn't think I ever would so she said it would be best to end it now. Save ourselves the trouble and all that."

She frowns. "That's not true. You spend every moment with her, you bring her along to everything so we could get to know her, you - "

"San, she wasn't wrong," he cuts her off quietly. "All she said was true. That's why I talked to her earlier, to let her know that she was right. And to say I'm sorry."

"How was she right?"

He thinks about it for a minute. "Well. She was right that I waa never going to love her half as much as I love you."

She blinks at him in surprise. "She said that?"

"Not in so many words but yeah."

Sansa can't be the reason they ended things; she's been trying so hard to make the situation less awkward, keeping her distance from Jon as much as she can so it doesn't complicate his relationship.

She starts to shake her head. "But that's different. You and I - "

"Share something I'll never share with anyone else. I told you you'll get it when you find someone. It's just... no one else is ever gonna feel enough when you already have the person that could take one look at you and immediately understand exactly how you feel."

She knows he's right, but what does it mean for them? What about years down the line when one of them decides they want this kind of connection with someone else. To be with someone else. What if... what if they start to loathe each other for it?

"Where does this leave us?"

He lifts a shoulder. "I don't know. But I don't mind finding out."

He seems so confident that everything will work out okay and she wants to believe him but there's the cynical part of her brain that just has enough room to doubt it.

She studied him for a moment. They need to leave the conversation for tonight; they're both drunk and probably not thinking straight. 

"But you're really okay? About Ygritte?" She still has to ask.

"I am."

She's not sure if she believes him or if he's only gotten good at masking his emotions but she let it go for now.

She leans into him and plants a kiss on his forehead. "I'll see you in the morning, Jon."

  
  
  


xiv.

"I see his wounds have started to heal. What about the other thing? Any developments in the last week since we were gone?"

"His leg might only take a few weeks before it completely heals but other than that no. And he still hasn't gained consciousness if that's really what you're asking."

The voices sound far away, but somehow Jon could tell they're talking about him. Only one of the voices are familiar, the other is a stranger to him.

The familiar one, the man, sighs. "Well, let me know if he wakes up. Or else we'll all be dead."

"Trip to the Wall didn't work out our way?"

"Worse. They tried to target us on the spot. Best we can guess is that they thought we were behind the ambush. The Watchmen with us are all dead except Jon. Only he can clear things up and help us get across the border."

He drifts in and out of consciousness after the conversation, the words exchanged not making a lot of sense to him.

The dreams that follow aren't any clearer; they're all violent and fussy, and familiar faces he can't place keep dying right before his eyes.

It isn't until later, when he feels this strange tug of confusion in the pit of his stomach, that he finally wakes.

"Sansa," he gasps out in surprise, searching the room wildly for her. 

He tries to sit up, but his body feels too heavy. He looks around at the unfamiliar surroundings. He's in some sort of makeshift infirmary, with ten or so people sleeping on cots near him.

He turns to the door and tries to see through the flap. He's still in the North, that much he can tell. There's snow on the ground and the air is cool.

"Hello?" He tries to call, but his throat is too dry and his voice is too weak to make any audible sound.

He finds a picture by the corner of his pillow. His picture. His hand flies to it immediately, staring at Sansa's laughing face.

Gods, she would be so worried. The thought makes him shut his eyes, trying to find her presence within him. Her confusion has bled into disbelief and shock and he tries to send her some reassurance.

 _I'm okay._ He tries to tell her. _I'm on my way back to you._

  
  


v.. 

As soon as Sansa sees Jon's name on her caller ID, she knows that she has to come home immediately. 

He never calls during class hours. They talk virtually all the time so he would know that she's still stuck in her Psych class, otherwise she would have texted to inform him.

She grabbed her bag along with her phone on the desk before running out of the lecture hall. They still have a couple hours left of discussion but she has a feeling she wouldn't want to stay. There's something heavy in the pit of her stomach.

"Jon?" She answers as soon as she's out the door, already making her way back to her dorm. "What's wrong?"

Her heart is beating out of her chest even though she thinks she already knows what he has to say as she hears his muffled cries on the line.

"She's gone," he tells her after a moment, sobbing the words out. "Sansa, my mom's gone."

She sucks in a deep breath as she feels the heavy weight of grief envelop her for a moment, the emotion so sharp that she has to stop walking for a moment. 

She should have known something was wrong before he even called; she felt it, that rising dark feeling within him just moments before. But truthfully, his emotions have been so out of order lately that it's too overwhelming for her to sort them out.

"Jon, where are you?" She asks, trying to keep herself calm for his sake. She lets it wash over him. "Is anybody with you?"

Her guess is, no. His mom has been in and out of the hospital for months and while her parents would often come to check on them, Jon's usually stuck caring for her around the clock.

"I'm still at the hospital," he tells her as he tried to steady his breathing. "There's - there are paper works for mom's, there's... your dad's on the way to help."

She can tell by the way he speaks that he's holding onto very little strength. Grief seeps into every word and she wishes she's physically there to help him cope right now. 

He keeps on talking for a little while, trying to explain what else he needs to take care of before they can leave the hospital, but Sansa only understands half of it with the way he's rushing to say them. 

"I just..." He takes a steadying breath.. "My mom's gone and I don't know what to do, Sansa."

"Okay. Okay," she sniffs back her own tears, trying to stay strong for him. "Jon, I'll be there soon, okay? I'll be there and we'll figure it out. Just go find somewhere to sit for now and wait for dad to arrive. He'll handle everything else, alright? You don't have to worry."

She books a flight to Winterfell as soon as she gets to her dorm room. She's been flying home back and forth in the past few months that the Vale Air website pops on screen as soon as she pulls up her browser.

She usually prefers driving to and from Winterfell, the six hour road trip serving as ample prep time before going back to school. But lately, when travelling back home has become part of her routine, flying was her saving grace. It cuts her journey in half and gives her more time to help out with Jon and his mom.

She manages to book a flight that leaves in an hour and a half. She prints out her details and sends a copy to her mom before driving to the airport. It's a very stressful ride, especially when she feels all of Jon's pain very strongly throughout it. 

His emotions are going haywire; she tries to tone it down but it's not like she has a lot of positive ones to offer. The past few months have been stressful for her too, because of how difficult it's been for him. And it's gotten a bit complicated to sort out his emotions from hers.

Thankfully, as much as it feels like a lifetime, three hours pass by and the pilot is finally announcing their arrival.

Hallis Mollen is waiting for her by the entrance, thanks to her mom, and he ushers her to the car immediately. She sends a text to Jon to let him know that he's almost there, then she sends a group text to let her family know that she arrived safely. Almost immediately, her inbox is blooded by texts from her siblings asking after Jon.

She confirms that, yes, Jon's mom has died but she admits that she doesn't know more than that and promises to update as soon as she has more information. Robb tells her that he'll drive home tomorrow after an internship interview and Arya's been trying to book flights but there are none available so she decided to camp out at the airport to wait if anything comes up.

The drive to Jon's apartment is maybe half an hour long and she flies out of the car to get to him. Her dad's already taken care of everything so all they could do now is wait. Still, he shouldn't be alone right now.

His front door is unlocked when he gets to his house so she lets herself in to find him sitting on the couch. The curtains are drawn and he's kept the lights off so he's sitting in the dark. She walks over to him slowly, his face hidden by the palm of his hand. She can feel his exhaustion within her as well as the heavy grief he's trying to keep in check.

She stops only when she's close enough to hold him. She tangles her fingers with his curls, pulling him to her. His arms instantly come up around her waist, burying his head against her stomach as he breathes out a sigh of relief. It's not much, but she managed to do at least that.

He starts crying again, his arms tight around her. She can feel her own tears threatening to fall but she swallows back the urge. All she'd done during her flight was cry and now she needs to keep herself together for him.

Her gaze drifts to the beige recliner in the living room, the one his mom loved to sit on because it was the most comfortable seat in the house. 

Sansa can almost imagine her sitting there, remembering the last time they ever spoke. It would have been three weeks ago, just before Jon had to rush her back to the hospital. The three of them were in the living room with Jon and Sansa sharing the two-seater. 

They were watching a romcom but she can't really remember what it was. Jon had already dozed off on her lap halfway as she brushed his hair back soothingly. 

"He'll be okay, won't he? After?" She turns to Lyanna, the frail woman bearing a small and sad smile.

Sansa's hand freezed over Jon's head in surprise. _After she's gone_ , she means. 

The question is clear and her first instinct is to assure her, as Jon usually would, that she'll pull through this. That she'll get better and live a long and happy life. But Sansa knows that her empty promises isn't what Lyanna needs. She's not worried for herself.

She glances down at Jon, his face soft and peaceful in his sleep. It's rare to see him so at peace these days that it makes her smile. 

"He will be," she assures his mother, her gaze never leaving him. "I'll take care of him for you, I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeew. I started this fic nearly a year ago and I'm sorry for taking too long to finish it. That said, thank you to those who has been waiting patiently. I didn't mean to make you wait so long.
> 
> Gifting this to [StandBehindHouseStark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StandBehindHouseStark/pseuds/StandBehindHouseStark) whose comments (and fic rec so long ago) kept me eager to finish this one.
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for reading and I hope you enjoy its conclusion. :)
> 
> PS  
> Here's a [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYkSAUn4OEzo_M5erIWDAZ66j_9Dto29d) I set up to get me into the mood of writing this story. Have a listen if you're interested hehe.

xv.

Two months come and go in a blink of an eye but even then, Sansa gets no closer to being used to Jon’s absence. If she's honest, she's not sure how she's supposed to do so when, even while she was still unaware of it, he has always been a part of her.

It's not a fun thing to think about at work, she grants, but it's not as if she can escape it. The grief has become a constant companion, taking over the spot that once was Jon's. 

She sucks in a deep breath when she leans back on her chair, glancing at her busy surroundings. Despite the late hour, the office is still booming with activity; most of her workmates are chatting idly, others focused on their own work. Some, she notices, gives her a sideways glance.

She's been getting the same kind of curious looks since her return from Winterfell; none of them knew her well enough to know what happened back home, but they do seem aware that something is wrong. Most of the people around her have been keeping their distance since, though she can't blame any of them. In truth, she hasn't been making it easy for anyone to get close. 

They shouldn't bother, regardless. It's not like she's staying for much longer; she'd submitted her resignation letter as soon as it became clear she didn't have any reason to stay. It’s not like there was ever really anything keeping her this far South; she just stayed in the Vale because with her siblings and Jon spread throughout the country, she thought it’d just make her feel sad to be in Winterfell on her own.

But now she’s sad here, too, and as alone as she could ever be. So why not just go home?

It’s an odd sensation, being alone. Even odder to realize that, in all her years, it's the first time she's truly in her lonesome. It feels as if the world has gone completely silent and she can only hear herself; her thoughts so loud in her mind it'd be impossible to quiet them down.

“Hey, Sansa, you got a sec?”

Maybe it would even do her some good to go home, she considers. Her parents think it’s a good idea, at least. They’ve been so worried about her lately; they don't understand, exactly, what's going on with her but they are aware that the loss of Jon has hit her harder than anyone else in the family.

"...Sansa?"

Arya's the only one who sort of gets what she's going through; she's still mostly confused with what she's been told, but no matter how illogical it is, it really just boils down to one thing: Sansa didn't just lose a loved one, she lost a part of herself. It's nothing time can heal, but she will get used to it. She has to.

Her sister, at least, understands this.

“Sansa. Is everything alright?”

Finally, she snaps out of her thoughts, turning to face the man standing beside her desk in slight embarrassment. “Um, Harry. Hi.”

He offers her a polite smile. “Baelish told me to take over the Lannisport account. I thought I’d get a headstart, get some of the files you have?'

He’s a transfer from their branch in Ironoaks; he’s been here for maybe a few months, Sansa really can't be sure. While she’s interacted with him a few times while working on some of her accounts, she hasn’t actually been paying him much attention.

“Right.” She answers slowly, trying to return his polite smile to no avail. “Um, yeah. I'll send them to your email right away.”

She’s tempted to turn away and leave the conversation at that but it seems as though there’s something else he wants to say and it would be rude to ignore him... all things considering.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out before he can actually say anything; she should’ve said it much earlier, she knows this, but she didn't know how. “About - you know...”

It would have been about a week ago when he asked her out for drinks after work. It had come as a surprise to her but she said yes, anyway, even though she really wanted to say no. The alternative would have been to go home and drown herself in her sorrows.

She wanted, even for just a moment, to not be so consumed by her grief.

"You don't have to apologize," he assures her with a shake of his head. "I kind of figured you weren't interested when you kept avoiding me afterwards."

The date itself went well; he was nice and polite. Funny, too. He would always carry the conversation when it didn’t seem like she was going to. She doesn’t remember much about the night itself but she remembers that he did everything exactly right. 

She remembers thinking that maybe he's someone she could love, given enough time. Instead, when he tried to kiss her at the end of the night, she cried. Because he isn't the man she does love. 

His hair was too light, eyes too blue, smile too bright. And no matter how hard she tried to push away the thought, all she could think of was the dark haired boy from her youth and the man he grew up to be.

"Still..." She trails off, tries not to make a face. "I'm sorry."

He lifts a shoulder. "There's no need to be. Really. I understand." He flashes her a bright smile, nods. “Alright, well, I'll check my email for the files. Have a good night, Sansa.”

It’s another couple of hours before she does get home and she jumps straight into the shower to try and wash the day away. Once she’s done and ready to rest, she tugs on her pajamas and one of Jon’s old shirts he left during a visit before finally slipping into bed. 

It's routine at this point; shutting off the lights and turning her speakers on to let the room be enveloped by complete darkness and music from some obscure alt rock band Jon had recommended she listen to so long ago.

It’s been exactly a month and twenty-two days since he died, she counts down the days in her mind as she buries herself underneath three layers of blankets. It’s a wonder how time managed to go by so quickly when every second still feels like an eternity. 

It takes a while before she finds sleep and even then it’s not a restful one. She dreams of snow, thick and falling harshly against the ground. There's chaos all around her, fires and guns and blood and people dying right before her eyes.

They're familiar faces, too. People she's seen but never met. She recognizes them from old photographs, remembers them as men of the Night's Watch.

There's Edd Tollet, Grenn, Pypar -- 

They all fall in front of her, bloodied and broken. And while it’s a frightening sight, all she can really think of is Jon. If they're here, if she’s seeing them -- maybe it means she’d get to see him, too. 

She starts to run across the battlefield, determined to find him even in such a nightmarish dream. 

"Jon," she shouts, though it’s inaudible amidst the noise and madness. 

She looks around frantically in search of him, her chest constricting at the possibility. Even for just a moment, even if it will ultimately hurt, she would do anything to see that somber face of his again.

"Jon," she calls out again, much louder now. "Where are you?"

He's close, she can sense it. Every atom in her body is begging her to keep looking and so she does.

The madness doesn’t stop around her; bodies pile on top of each other, the snowy ground marred with blood. The whole of it is something she knows would haunt her for the rest of her life but she'd risk it if it means she’d see him again. 

_"Sansa."_

There, finally. She lets out a breath of relief. There it is, the sound of his voice just right behind her. Yet when she turns --

The dream collapses into reality and instead of his face, she sees only darkness.

"No," she cries out, sitting up from her bed. "No, no, no." The tears fall uncontrollably down her cheeks, her chest aching with frustration and disbelief. “I was so close.”

Ever since what happened to Jon, her sleep has been burdened with dreams as frustrating as the one she just had. It's never the same one; once she was even a wolf, howling in the vast emptiness. The only constant is her calling for him. Begging for him to come to her.

It's the first time he ever answered, she realizes, and the thought is quickly followed by a sudden wave of warmth pooling at her stomach. As if it's meant to soothe her. 

It’s a familiar feeling, one that feels strange after having gone so long without. 

_Jon?_ She blinks in the darkness, hopeful, still, even though it's most likely only her emotions playing a trick on her. She lets her confusion slip out of her and towards him, hoping against hope that she didn't just imagine it.

She holds her breath in anticipation, begging whatever gods are out there to hear her pleas. _Let it be true._

An answering whirl of comfort flutters at the pit of her stomach and she immediately understands, through their own form of language, that he's on his way back to her.

  
  


xvi.

The path back to the woman he loves is a long and rough one ahead of him, that much is clear to Jon. But the distance and the risks attached to it means nothing when he thinks of Sansa; of the warmth of her embrace and the softness of her smiles. And how just one look from her can make all his worries disappear. 

He thinks of this and he'd do just about anything to get back to her in one piece.

"You love her... the woman in the picture?" Jon's attention turns from the photograph on his hand and towards the speaker as she makes her approach towards him. "Tormund said you had that in your hand when they found you, insisted we keep it by your side."

Val is among the Freefolks’ most respected fighters; Jon had seen her only in passing throughout his time with them. With their diminishing numbers, ehe had also been the one to attend to his injuries.

Jon glances back at the picture he’s holding, its edges tainted by his own blood from that day in Hardhome. "Everything happened so fast that day. I thought I was as good as dead," he recalls, sucking in a deep breath. He runs his thumb over Sansa’s smiling face, chest constricting at the thought of her being a world away. "All I remember thinking is that if I was going to die, I wanted her to be the last thing I ever saw." 

He takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair. The guilt seeps back into his mind as he recalls the flood of heavy emotions from her. The grief, the hurt. "Gods," he lets out with a heavy sigh, his breath misting from the cold. "I can't even imagine what kind of hell I must have put her through these past few weeks."

"That's why you're so eager to go back into the fray despite your condition," Val says aloud, almost as if she’s filling in the blanks. She pulls off her gloves before extending her hands towards the blazing bonfire in front of them, waiting for him to respond. "So she can know you're alive."

He could hear the disapproval in her tone; it's the same one she'd used the other day when he met with their war council to discuss how they should proceed with the matter at hand.

Tormund filled him in on the dire situation they were in; apparently, when no member of the Night's Watch from Jon's delegation returned on the specified date and time, the Watch assumed that the Freefolk had turned back on the agreement. 

Because of this, when Tormund and a few of his men tried to seek help, they targeted them on sight. Meanwhile, an unconscious Jon, along with the small number of Freefolk survivors, most of whom were either young or elderly, set up camp in the deepest part of the Haunted Forest for safety from the real culprits.

Reaching out to the watch remotely would be ideal but the White Walkers seem to have set up a signal blocker that the Freefolk technicians haven't been able to crack. The only solution they have now is to clear the misunderstanding with the help of Jon; he knows a way to cross the Wall and he’s the only one Mormont would ever believe about what happened. 

All they need to do is reach Eastwatch to be able to contact the base from the patrol quarters there. Unfortunately, according to Tormund's scouts, the White Walkers have settled in between the forest and the Wall, so they would have to travel with only a small group of men under the cover of darkness for the next five days in order to reach their destination.

Even more unfortunate is the fact that Jon's not in his best condition yet; while most of his wounds have already healed, he's still recovering from being basically comatose for nearly two months. Not to mention, his leg hasn't fully recovered yet, either.

Val didn't hesitate to point these out during the council meeting, going as far as calling their plans reckless and dangerous. She's not wrong, Jon would grant. Their plan is risky and maybe even a foolish endeavor but it's not as if they have much choice. They may be safe for now but it's only a matter of time before the White Walkers discovers them and waiting would only mean putting all their lives in greater danger. 

A call from Tormund takes him out of his train of thoughts; the man gives him a nod from a distance, already dressed in his thick white fur and gear. He must have already been given the green light for them to proceed as planned.

He turns back to Val, sighing as he stands up. "I know you have your doubts but this plan will work.” He glances at Sansa’s picture once more, a reminder of why he needs to keep going, before putting it back into his chest pocket. “I have every intent to go back home alive. Even if I have to crawl my way to the Wall, I'll do it."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Val replies with a quirk of her lips. She hands him a small pack that’s resting on her lap. "Here, take this. It's cloth for your leg wound and some medicine to help alleviate the pain. We went through great lengths to keep you alive, Jon Snow, don't let it go to waste."

He takes the pack, tries to offer her a smile. "Thanks. For this and... I know you took care of me while I was out, so... I owe you."

She shakes her head, smiles. "I think you have your woman to thank for that." She tells him, standing up as well. "We did what we had to because we needed your help but your fate was never in our hands. I was sure you were going to die more times than I can count, and most men would have from the extent of your injuries, yet you somehow held on."

xvii.

"Sansa, hold on a second. We’re gonna lose you in the crowd." 

She can hear her brother call her from a distance, urging her to stop and wait for the rest of them to catch up to her; she ignores his request and keeps pushing through the thick crowd of people around her, determined to get to the terminal gate as soon as she can. 

"Why don't you try walking faster then, you slowpoke," she hears Arya retort, which is how the bickering usually starts.

Sansa doesn't hear the rest of the argument, though, freezing in her tracks when she sees _him_. He looks weary; his face is pale, eyes hollow. His hair is long and wild as well, just as he kept it when he was younger. He's thinner than she remembers, she notes, and his arm is elevated on a sling. And even without the physical evidence of the hardships he had to endure, Sansa knows just how worn out he feels inside. 

"Jon," she still breathes out in relief, just because despite everything, he's alive; he came back to her. 

Her voice is low and quiet when she utters his name, and with the distance between them and the noisy atmosphere as the crowd around them moved about in every direction, there was no possible way he could have heard her. And yet his eyes find hers instinctively, as if an innate ability they both possess, and his face breaks out into a wide smile that erases any trace of his exhaustion.

She feels her own lips pull up, a mix of many different emotions swirling in her stomach at the mere sight of him. Her feet move of its own volition towards him, her heart beating wildly out of her chest as they begin walking towards each other.

"You're really here." Her arms come up around him as soon as she reaches him, breathing the words into his skin. She buries her face against him and it feels like the most natural thing. "I couldn't be sure if I should believe it."

If she's completely honest, she had her doubts up until she laid her eyes on him just now. Even when Sam Tarly reached out to tell her that they received word about him being alive, even when his commander called to confirm they found him, even when Jon himself contacted her just days after -- 

Refusing to believe any of it is self-preservation, maybe; a part of her just knows she wouldn’t have been able to live with going through all of the pain again and it was, therefore, too dangerous to have hope.

She feels him burrow his face further into the crook of her neck, his breathing erratic. She trails her hand up to the nape of his neck, tangling her fingers into his hair as he begins to cry softly. She feels the tension leave his body as he does, lightening the weight he carries inside him.

It’s not long before Robb’s arms are around them both, followed by Arya’s, then Bran's and Rickon’s, too -- each one of them extending their love and strength to him.

“You guys really missed me, huh." He lifts his head up to let out a shaky laugh, the relief palpable.

“Fucking hell, Jon, you had us all worried,” Robb lets out with a breath of relief. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

"Makes two of us," Jon replies wryly.

They pull away one by one; she gives him a smile, wiping away the tears off his face before stepping aside to let her siblings have a moment with him; she’s content to just watch them for now, drinking in the sight of him in silence.

“If you ever do that to us again, I swear I’m gonna kill you myself just to get it over with,” Arya threatens immediately, though her words aren’t so frightening when she says it with tear-streaked eyes. She tiptoes, pulls him into a quick hug. “You’re such an asshole.”

Jon merely laughs, his eyes full of fondness. “I love you, too.”

While they’re all eager to spend time with him, they're all aware that he's still recovering from his injuries, both the old ones and the new ones Sansa knew he’d accumulated on his journey back home, so they all accept it without question when he tells them he wants to head home and rest.

Since he’d sold his mother’s house so long ago, he usually bunked at Robb's and Marg's whenever he visited Winterfell. But since Sansa had moved back home just days before they received word of his return, she arranged for him to stay with her at the newly-rented apartment her mother picked out for her in Winter Town. 

She takes him there after a quick dinner with her family; not unusually, he's quiet throughout the drive. He reaches for her hand halfway through their journey, slipping his fingers through hers. She turns to him with a quick smile, rubs the back of his hand in silent assurance. It’s not that neither of them has anything to say - they have plenty to talk about, to be sure - it’s more that they don’t need the words at the moment, fully content with just the comfort of being together again.

“It looks nice... pretty.” Jon compliments the apartment as soon as he enters, looking around curiously. There's not much to see, though, just the generic furniture her mother picked out for her before she arrived. It doesn't really feel like hers yet; she hasn't even unpacked any of her own things. Jon seems to realize this, scrunching his nose at her. “Doesn’t really seem like you, though.”

“Mom arranged most of it. I didn't have time, or energy, really, to do it myself,” she explains, stepping into the living room. She leans against the back of the couch, her eyes trained on him as her heartbeat picks up. “We can rearrange it later. After you recover, maybe.”

He turns to her, his eyebrows quirking up. “We can?” 

The smile he gives her is so shy and hopeful, so boyish, that it reminds her of the countless times she’s seen the same expression on his face in their younger years. 

“I don’t think I.... I don’t want to - ” her voice trails off just as she’s beginning to speak, her throat locking up as the tears threaten to fall. She’s been trying so hard to keep herself together all day but it was only ever a matter of time before her composure broke. 

She thinks of all their reunions that ultimately ended in just another goodbye; thinks of all the time she chose to wait and see, just to be sure, because she was afraid to take a chance. _No more of that_ , she decides. They've both waited long enough in this lifetime.

She lets out a breath to say just that. “We’ve already wasted so much time, Jon, and I don’t want to waste anymore of it.”

“Me neither,” he lets her know, taking a few sure steps to reach her.

He wraps his free hand around her, forehead resting against hers. She takes a shaky breath, watching as his eyes flutter shut before hers does the same. 

She rubs her nose against his, her stomach fluttering as she lifts her hands to the back of his neck. It's a wonder how they spent so many years tiptoeing around each other, trying to ignore the obvious truth, when it's this easy, this natural, to fall into each other's arms.

"No more wasting time," he says, voice low and quiet.

He leans in towards her, removing the remaining distance between them with the press of his lips. His mouth slants against hers, sure and firm, and her mind nearly goes into overdrive.

He pulls away after a moment, leaning back just enough to take off the sling around his shoulder.

"Careful," she says, a little breathless, feeling the subtle sting of pain from his movement. "It's not healed yet."

"I want to hold you," he tells her in explanation, as if that's enough of a reason to risk further injury. 

And maybe it is, she thinks when her words of disapproval gets muffled by his mouth pressing against hers. 

_I love you_ , his lips seem to say. _I'll stay here forever if you want me to_ , his touch assures. Her stomach flutters wildly at the thought; her breathing coming to a halt when he begins to trail kisses on her jaw and down to her collarbone. 

She slides her hands under his shirt, intent on feeling his warmth as he continues his ministrations. She sucks in a deep breath when she realizes she can feel not just his touch but her own as well, a surge of electricity passing through her skin at each part of him she touches.

She lets her body fall on the couch and he quickly follows suit. She reaches for the hem of his shirt to pull it off him gently, wanting to feel more of him as he wraps his arms securely around her.

She freezes at the sight of the scars littered all over his body; her mind has been too preoccupied to remember that the scars wouldn't have disappeared along with the ones on her skin. She touches the scar on his chest, remembers how it felt when he got it and the emptiness that quickly followed.

Jon brings her hand against his mouth, embedding gentle kisses against her skin. "I'm sorry for making you go through that."

She reaches for him, her thumb tracing the line of his mouth. "I can think of ways to get even," she replies teasingly, a bid to make things light. 

She's done dwelling on what happened; it's not something she wants to relive and she's sure he feels the same. She'd rather look ahead; their time will be better spent pondering over a future they can share. 

And so she says, albeit as a joke, "I hear contractions are a pain."

His eyes widen instantly, his chest reddening all the way up to his ears at the mere insinuation. " _Oh_?"

She lets out a laugh, pulling him in for a kiss. " _Down, boy_ ," she commands half-heartedly, whispering the words in his ears. "I didn't mean we should get on it right away."

"Course not." Her heart skips a beat at the smile that blooms on his face, bright and content, and any qualms she may still have instantly ebbs away. He plants a kiss between her brows, a promise in itself. "We'll have the rest of our lives for that."


End file.
